


crepes and croissants

by foxmagpie



Series: little gifts [22]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Annie laying down the TRUTH, F/M, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmagpie/pseuds/foxmagpie
Summary: Beth dissects her night with Peter with Annie; Beth hesitantly makes an unexpected friend.





	crepes and croissants

Beth’s clothes are rumpled, her make-up wiped clean from her face (and onto his pillow), and yet when Peter looks over at her when he pulls up to a stoplight on the main road near her house, he _ grins_. Bright and open, like he thinks she’s beautiful.

Beth returns a small smile, and Peter squeezes her hand, runs his thumb along hers.

Beth clears her throat and reminds him, “You’ll take a left right up here. On Pine.”

“I remember,” Peter says gently, and Beth feels silly. Her nerves must be getting to her. Of _ course _ he remembers. This isn’t a new route for him—he’s been to her house more than once now. 

Beth thinks about her kids, wonders if they’ll be awake yet, if they’ll realize that she never came home last night. It’s not even quite seven yet—the sun’s still rising—but Peter had generously woken up early to drive Beth home in the hopes that she could get back before they all came barreling down the stairs. There was a good chance she’d make it, too, but it wasn’t a certainty. Saturday mornings were for crepes and the best cartoons, after all, so sometimes it felt like the kids were up at the crack of dawn. 

Beth’s stomach clenches. It’s the first night she’s left them overnight since she kicked Dean out. It’s the first time—ever—that they would have ever woken up without at least one of their parents in the house. 

She wonders if one of them (Jane, most likely—the habit’s been increasing since the divorce) has already scampered down the stairs, tiptoed into her room, and crawled into her bed—only to find Annie instead. 

Peter turns onto Elm and lifts his elbow to nudge her. Her hand, wrapped in his, twists for a second as he does it. “You’re quiet. What are you thinking over there?”

And Beth _ had _ been thinking of her kids—until he’d asked it. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, she looks over at him, but she sees Rio’s face—or rather, his profile. She remembers looking over at him on that drive back from Canada, the way the silence had stretched between them—only it wasn’t in a bad way, not at all. 

She had felt awkward at first, but when Rio didn’t flinch under her gaze, she’d studied the way his legs were stretched out, the way he had his head tipped slightly back against the headrest, how he had his hand dangling over the steering wheel. _ Relaxed._

Beth had settled into the seat, then. She’d looked out the window, letting her mind wander back to that morning in that hotel. She’d woken up with to Rio uncurling himself from her carefully, only he didn't know she was awake. At first, she’d thought he was separating himself from her because _ he _ was uncomfortable with the lines they’d crossed—assumed he was reverting back to the version of him she knew best, and there’d been a brief sense of loss at the thought of it—but no. After he pulled away from her, but before he’d rolled off the bed and wandered into the bathroom, she could feel him at her back just… _ lying _ there. She’d wondered what he was doing, and then she had felt him—just barely—ghosting one finger along her spine, like he couldn’t help himself, like he had to touch her. She’d understood then that he had pulled away from her for _ her_, that he was responding to the boundaries _ she’d _ been erecting between them. She’d been practically paralyzed that first night with the overwhelming sense of intimacy the whole trip was carrying. 

While she’d been thinking about this on that long stretch of Canadian highway—thinking that maybe she _ wanted _that intimacy, this thing that had disappeared from her marriage so long ago it was merely a dull memory, this thing she couldn't have imagined sharing with the man next to her, but which had seemed to be developing anyway—Rio had turned to lock eyes with her, and she’d smiled, and he’d smiled back. It was a small smile, just a gentle curve of his lips, but then he'd reached over and put his hand on her knee again, and she’d felt bold enough that time to place her hand over his. It was the bright light of day, and they’d driven like that for a long time. 

He didn’t say anything. Neither did she. She’d felt so consumed with those thoughts that she couldn't have come up with a lie if she’d wanted to, so she’d been relieved that he hadn't asked her what she was thinking about, that he let her have her privacy.

But she has to stop comparing the two of them. 

Peter squeezes her hand to regain her attention. She wonders if he thinks she's lost in a reverie of last night. 

“Hm?” Peter asks, waiting. 

“I was thinking about what kind of crepes to make this morning.”

“What are the options?” Peter asks, slowing down a stop before they turn onto Maple. Her street. She looks across the road at the stop sign, staring at her shoddy workmanship—the metal dented and scratched from her insane method of trying to hammer it off its original post.

She was pretty good at making a mess of things, she thinks.

She wonders what Peter would think if she told him that story. 

Rio had seen her do it, and he’d never even asked. He'd just taken it in stride. 

“Maybe apple,” Beth says, thinking about how she has too many and soon they’ll be wasted. But then she remembers the fruit she’d unfrozen earlier in the week, imagines the sweetbitter taste of them raw, the richness of the deep purple glaze she can make from melting them down. “Maybe blueberry.” 

“Can’t go wrong with apple,” Peter says, squeezing her hand. “The All-American fruit. Plus, I think they might be healthier. Keep the doctor away, et cetera.”

Peter’s babbling. He must be a little nervous, too.

“Yeah, you might be right about that,” Beth agrees, shrugging. Non-committal. 

Peter pulls into the driveway behind Beth’s van. Yesterday Annie had dropped Beth off at the toy store so she could use the van to cart all the kids to a movie (Beth’s treat, as a thank you for babysitting). 

“Um,” Peter says, as Beth pulls her hand back from holding his and unbuckling her seat belt. Then he says very quickly, “So. I had a lot of fun last night, and—”

“Oh god,” Beth says, interrupting him, noticing Annie peeking her head through the blinds. 

Peter follows Beth’s gaze and sees Annie’s nose practically pressed to the glass. He laughs a little. “I can see she hasn’t changed.” 

Annie had walked in on them making out in the storage closet of the toy store too many times to count. 

Beth flicks her hand at Annie, like _ go away_. She can see her sister scowl before she disappears deeper into the living room, but Beth doesn’t trust that she isn’t still watching.

“I better get inside,” Beth says, fiddling with a loose string from the seam of her jeans. She looks down and notices the smudge left from Rio wiping his hand on her. _ Asshole_.

“Wait—” Peter says as Beth’s hand brushes against the door handle. She looks over at him, and he leans over to kiss her gently. It startles her, but it’s over before she can even react. “I’ll call you.”

* * *

Peter, the perfect gentleman, waits until Beth's through the threshold of the door to put the car into reverse and leave. But Beth can barely open the door—Annie’s already right there, looking odd in Beth’s pajamas, the pants too long and the shirt gaping open at her chest. She’s holding up her phone, showing Beth how she has Ruby on FaceTime. Ruby’s face lights up in a thrilled smile.

“Look at _ you_, kissing boys in your driveway after a night out,” Annie says, eyebrows dancing suggestively. 

“Girl!” Ruby yells. “Tell us everything! How _ was _ it?”

“Are the kids awake?” Beth asks, setting down her purse and making a show of wriggling out of her coat. 

“No—I kept them up late. Figured we’d need time to dish this morning.”

“Annie,” Beth says, exasperated. She heads into her bedroom. She needs a shower. 

Unsurprisingly, she finds her bed unmade, Annie’s jeans and t-shirt and socks trailing across her bedroom floor. Beth starts picking things up and folding them neatly. 

“Beth, stop. I’m gonna change back into those—” Annie protests. 

Beth abandons the project, tosses the clothes on top of her dresser in a small pile, and begins making the bed. 

“So, did you have _ fun_?” Ruby asks tentatively from the small speaker on Annie’s phone, which is still clutched in her hand. 

“Yes,” Beth answers promptly, tucking the loose-fitted sheet under the mattress. She moves to the other side of the bed to do the same there. 

“Like multiple orgasms fun? Or like, it _ just _ edges out binge-watching something on Netflix fun?” 

“Annie,” Beth warns, smoothing out the top comforter. 

“I’m just asking,” Annie huffs. 

“It was _ good_. I had _ fun_,” Beth answers simply. She starts fluffing a pillow—a little more roughly than is strictly necessary. 

“Really? Because you’re not any fun right _ now_. You actually seem _ more _ tense.”

“I have to agree with her,” Ruby adds. Then she shifts to concern. “Are you okay, B?” 

“I’m fine. I’m _ great_. I just—I like my privacy, okay?”

“We understand,” Ruby says gently, but Annie interrupts her with a strangled noise. 

Annie turns the phone so she can look at Ruby on the screen. “No, we don’t! I thought _ you _ were the one that told her she should open up more!” 

Beth glares at Annie and turns her back on her to take out a fresh set of towels from the wardrobe. 

“What? You never gave us the deets with Rio, but I thought this would be diff—”

Beth whirls around, wide-eyed. Annie realizes immediately she’s said the wrong thing. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Beth announces.

And she disappears behind her en suite door before Annie can say anything. 

* * *

Beth doesn’t expect Annie to stick around, but she’s sitting in one of the armchairs, apparently still FaceTiming Ruby. “Gotta go. Talk later.” 

There's the beep of the call ending, and Beth knows they were just picking apart her behavior. 

“You can go home now, you know,” Beth snips, unwrapping the towel from her hair and shaking out her wet curls with a hand. 

“You know I just did you a favor, right?”

“I know. Thank you,” Beth says, but there’s not a lot of feeling behind the words. She disappears into the bathroom to hang up her towel. 

“I cancelled on Noah to help you out here. We were going to go out,” Annie calls out. Beth reappears at the doorway, still in her towel. “We were gonna celebrate six months together.” 

Beth blushes, but turns so Annie can’t see her. “Thank you,” she says again, more quietly. “How’s that… going?”

Beth’s been so wrapped in herself for… god, who knows how long now? She’s barely asked Annie _ anything _ about Noah, had sort of believed—well, she’d sort of believed that Annie was still dating him just because she’d _ asked _ her to. She hadn’t really realized that it’d turned in something _ real_. Or that so much time had passed.

“It’s… good,” Annie says, fiddling with the drawstrings of the borrowed pajama bottoms. “I mean, it’s weird. And it’s sad. And it’s a mess, considering everything. But despite all of it… He makes me feel… good.”

“That’s… good,” Beth says slowly, although she doesn’t actually know if she feels that way. The man had deceived her sister while luring her into bed—and now, what? Annie was just _ dating _ him? Like that could be forgiven? 

But Beth had _ asked _ her to keep dating him. Had _ suggested _ Annie use their relationship to throw him off their trail, and now Noah was helping _ them _ by keeping them in the loop with information. Why? 

When it came down to it, which side would he choose? Her sister or his job?

Why had she pushed Annie to do this? Why had she pushed her toward another man that had used her and nearly destroyed her in the process? Had she sacrificed Annie to try and save herself? 

“Yeah,” Annie agrees.

They sit in silence for a minute. Beth watches rivulets of water run down her legs and pool at her feet. 

“Does Peter make you feel good?” 

“What?” Beth’s head snaps back up and Annie’s looking at her, really studying her hard. Beth pulls the towel around her tighter, suddenly feeling exposed. 

“It’s a pretty straightforward question.”

“Yes,” Beth says quickly. “He does.” She doesn’t ask _ why_. She doesn’t want to know.

“It’s just…” Annie hesitates. “I thought maybe…”

Beth walks to her dresser, starts rifling through her underwear drawer. She needs to be dressed. She doesn’t ask Annie to continue. 

“I thought maybe you’d be… happier this morning?” 

Beth doesn’t respond for a beat, and then she says, “I’m happy.”

“Not as happy as when…” Annie trails off.

Beth knows she’s going to reference some point with Rio (she certainly isn’t going to reference some point with _ Dean_), but which point? She’d still been too defensive when Annie had discovered that they’d slept together—still too uncertain of her own feelings, still too stressed about whether or not he was capable of taking care of Boomer’s—or rather, _ Jeff’s_—body and getting her off the hook. And she certainly hadn’t been happy the second time, after Beth had ended it. She’d been devastated. 

_ Was _ she happy with Rio? The question feels difficult to answer. She’d been consumed with him, nearly obsessed with him, practically _ addicted _ to him. 

But had she been _ happy_?

She’d felt _ alive_. She’d felt _ seen_. Respected and admired and powerful—until the end, at least.

Was that the same thing?

“You were really happy at Christmas,” Annie says finally. 

Beth’s shimmying her underwear up her legs and under her towel. She can’t help but think of how she’s standing in practically the same spot as where she’d dropped to her knees in front of Rio Christmas night when he’d shown up with a split lip and bloody knuckles. She’d wanted to take care of him then, to take away his pain, to make him feel _ good. _

Afterward, he'd let her clean him up, stopped fussing against it. Then they'd crawled into her bed. It hadn't felt as terrifying as that first night in Canada. He’d still been a little tipsy, sleepy too, and as they were tucked under the blankets together, facing each other, he'd reached over to tug at one of her buttons and mumbled, “Can’t believe how bad I want you when you wearin’ these old lady pajamas.”

Beth had laughed.

Rio had slid his hand up her face, then, and swiped her hair in that way he did. “You got a nice laugh, ma.”

And then he was out. 

She’d woken up early, just like Peter had this morning, and dragged Rio out of bed and into her van, dropping him off at his own apartment in the twilight. Rio had been kind of surly and hungover, quiet in the car ride, but he’d kissed her goodbye, like it was just something they did. 

“On Christmas morning you made croissants,” Annie says, pulling Beth back to the present.

“So?” 

“From scratch.”

“So?”

“So… you haven’t made croissants from scratch for, like, ten years. Maybe longer. Don’t they take like, a million hours?”

“Almost twelve. But a lot of that is resting time.”

“Whatever,” Annie says, waving her hand as if she doesn’t need the step-by-step process. 

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“You only make them when you’re really happy,” Annie says. “I mean, you used to make them when we were kids. When things were bad. To make them better.”

After Mrs. Schott had taught Beth how to bake, she'd gotten obsessed. Used baking as a way to drown out the quiet coming from her mother’s bedroom. It was nice, too, because so many recipes could be made from the simplest (and cheapest) ingredients: flour, sugar, baking powder. And neighbors were often unsuspicious if Beth wandered over and asked if they had half a cup of chocolate chips, pretending she’d run out when the reality was she’d never had any to begin with. Of course, the cookies hadn’t been very good—they weren't nearly chocolatey enough—but for two kids that had nothing, they’d been special. 

They’d had nothing on the croissants, though. The first Christmas after their father had left had been depressing—so on the next one, Beth had wrangled Annie into helping her make croissants. It became a Christmas Eve tradition, something long and intensive to distract them from the fact that there weren’t any presents under the tree (besides what Beth could scrounge up at a toy drive) and no Christmas dinner baking in the oven. In the morning, they’d be fresh and flaky and delicious with butter, and it was this one happy memory that she could give to Annie in a childhood that had otherwise been so tumultuous. (Plus, the croissants had the added benefit of doubling as a Christmas gift for Dean—a way she could show him she cared when she couldn’t possibly afford to buy him anything; she’d wrapped them up in dollar store plastic wrap with dollar store ribbon, tucked a nice handwritten note about how _ special _ he was to her in there—only later he would parrot these words back to her, trying to convince her to have sex for the first time).

“You haven't made them at Christmas for years. Not since Emma was born, I don't think.” 

"Well, it’s hard to find the time when you've got a newborn," Beth says defensively. 

“I'm not criticizing,” Annie says, holding up her hands. “I’m just saying. I don't think you’ve made them since then.” 

But the implication hangs in the air that she _ had _ found the time when Kenny and Danny were newborns. Things had started to really shift with Baby #3. She'd been exhausted, started becoming acutely aware of how little Dean was helping her with potty training and diaper changes and cooking and cleaning. The way he got to relax after work, and she never got a break from it. She'd felt empty, drained, incapable of being a human. 

“No,” Beth corrects her, pulling on a blouse over her bra. She focuses carefully on lining up her buttons with the correct holes. “I’ve made them since. Just… not at Christmas.”

“Oh?”

“I made them when I got on the meds,” Beth says, and she doesn’t even need to clarify. Annie knows she means the postpartum pills. 

“Oh. Yeah. I remember.”

Suddenly, when the world hadn’t felt so dark anymore, when it felt like there was a possibility that she might be able to be a normal person again—she’d made so many batches of croissants that she couldn’t possibly eat them all. She gave some to Annie, to Ruby, to random PTA moms. 

_ Here, have these_, she’d said. _ I made too many_. As if it had been an accident, some error in misreading the serving size and not a calculated representation of the fact that she felt capable of doing things again (or that it kept her busy and distracted from obsessively thinking about how her husband had treated her during her depression—detached and disinterested—and how he’d immediately started propositioning her for sex again on the very first day she’d started the medication). 

“Anyway,” Annie says, moving them past this thick memory that seems to press against both of their throats and make it hard to breathe. “You make them when you’re happy, and you made them Christmas morning, and I dunno. I know this thing you had with Rio was crazy, but… when you were with him, I got to see a version of you I haven’t seen in years. A version I had sort of forgotten existed, to be honest. It was... _ nice_.”

Beth purses her lips, looks down at her feet. She’s dressed now. She has nothing left to do but look at Annie, but she can’t. 

“If you’re happy, if you tell me you’re happy with Peter, I’ll drop it,” Annie promises. “But—“

“I couldn’t sleep with Peter,” Beth blurts. 

Beth looks up at Annie, and her jaw’s open, her brow’s furrowed. Beth expects her to ask _ why_, but instead she asks, “Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“Ruby…” Beth says quietly. “She really likes Peter for me and—”

“Beth,” Annie interrupts, holding out a hand to cut her off. “Ruby wants you to be happy.” 

_ But she’d prefer it if Peter made me happy_, Beth thinks. She sinks onto the corner of her bed and nibbles on her lip, stumped.

“So if you didn’t sleep together… why the kissing? And the sleeping over?”

“I mean… We didn’t do _ nothing_.” Beth lets the words hang in the air, doesn’t elaborate. 

Her heart had been beating loudly through her chest when he’d fumbled with his keys and unlocked his door. They’d both been anxious, though, so they’d settled their nerves over a bottle of wine (“Rosé?” he’d asked, sorting through his mini bar, and Beth had quickly declined—anything but rosé or chard or bourbon, she’d told him). He’d sat down on the couch, closer to her than ever before, and she’d shifted even closer still, pressed her leg up against his, hoping to hide the whitish spot that Rio had wiped onto her jeans. 

Eventually he’d kissed her, pausing right before he reached her lips to make sure that she still wanted him to. The kiss had been nice. _ Good_, even. Firm. Peter had threaded his fingers through her hair and Beth could tell how much he’d been wanting to do this. 

The kissing lead to more, of course. They’d moved from the couch to the bed (Peter was very traditional, she sensed) and eventually his mouth moved from her lips to her neck, from her neck to her chest. Her sweater came off, and then her blouse. His hand slipped to her jeans, and she’d gasped a little, surprised at how it felt to have someone else touch her. He’d backed off immediately, apologized profusely, and Beth had insisted, _ no, no_, it was fine. 

But they’d had to start all over. Warm up again. 

At a certain point, she’d wanted to be touched badly enough that she unbuttoned her own jeans, moved his hand to the top of her panties, and gasped in the _ good _ way when he’d slipped a finger into her. 

Even though it’d been what she’d wanted, what she’d _ invited _ him to do—even though she’d moved his hand because she was _ ready _ to be touched, she’d found herself slightly disappointed that he hadn’t teased her more, made her crazy with need for it, like…

_ No, _ she had thought to herself, squeezing her eyes shut tighter and thinking hard about Peter. _ Just _ Peter. 

Peter didn’t do anything wrong. He was hitting all the right notes. But there was a mental block. It just wasn’t happening, and Beth was considering faking it when Peter stopped.

“What do you want?” he’d asked, voice husky, like he wanted explicit instructions. It wasn’t demanding or pushy, it wasn’t even frustrated. It was like he was saying, _ If you tell me, I could do it just the way you like_. 

It was a valid question. It was even the sign of a good partner, Beth thought. Someone that was paying attention to your needs and who wanted to deliver on it. 

But Rio had never had to ask.

And Peter couldn’t give her what she wanted.

So Beth had quietly extracted his hand from her body and said, “I’m so sorry.”

Peter understood. Peter always understood. He told her how hard it'd been for him, moving on after his divorce. He told her he'd drive her home right then, if that's what she wanted. But Beth said no, thinking how defeated she would feel crawling into bed next to Annie, how she would lie awake obsessing over her failure to move on at the exact moment that Rio was probably in bed with—

Well, she’d said no anyway. 

Peter had brushed her hair out of her face. He was doing all the right things, it seemed; he was trying to comfort her, but it wasn’t enough. 

They went to bed. Peter asked if he could cuddle her. Beth said yes, but as soon as he fell asleep, she untangled herself from him. She tossed and turned, smearing her makeup on his pillow while Peter slept soundly. 

“So now what?” Annie asks. “What _ are _ you guys?”

“I don’t know,” Beth admits. “We didn’t talk about it.”

They hadn’t. They’d left in a hurry that morning, and Peter had small talked at her for most of the car ride, until the end. Maybe he’d asked her what she had been thinking, hoping she’d been thinking about him. Maybe he thought she would broach the topic. Maybe that's what he'd been trying to say when Annie had poked her nose through the curtains. 

Annie breathes out a sigh. “Figures. Kind of your signature move at this point.”

Beth rolls her eyes. 

“I’m just saying.” 

Just then the door opens and Jane peeks in. “Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Are we having crepes?"

* * *

Once Beth sets up the kids with cartoons and once she gets a pot of coffee going, she starts rummaging through the kitchen for her ingredients: eggs, milk, flour, sugar, vanilla extract, butter. She pauses at the kitchen island, looking between the apples in the fruit bowl and the fridge, where the blueberries are.

Annie reaches into the cupboard for Beth’s _ I’d Rather Be Crafting _ mug and chooses a random one for herself. 

“Well, what do you want?” Annie asks, keeping her voice low. “Because I think you’ve got to shit or get off the pot, you know?"

Beth pinches her eyebrows. “Gross.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know. I _ want _ to want to be with Peter,” Beth says, pulling out her blender and pouring in all the dry ingredients.

“That’s not the same thing as wanting to be with him,” Annie says gently. She takes the pot out of the coffee machine and makes them each a cup, dumping too much cream and sugar in her own mug and just enough in Beth’s to cut the bitterness. 

“I know.”

“Do you want to be with Rio?”

Beth cracks the egg against the edge of the glass blender too hard. It splatters. The yolk drips all over into her hand, making a mess.

“Well then,” Annie says, raising her eyebrows. “That’s one way to answer.” 

Beth cleans up, ignoring Annie, and cracks another egg perfectly.

“Well, _ do _ you?” Annie asks again. But Beth presses the button and the blender whirrs loudly for ten seconds. As soon as it stops, Annie says, “I'm just going to keep asking." 

“It doesn't matter what I want,” Beth snaps, pouring her batter into a bowl to rest in the fridge. “I can’t just get over what he did and—“

“What _ did _ he do?” Annie asks, leaning forward, curious. “Because you’ve never told us.” 

“He—“ Beth freezes. Honestly, at this point, her brain is jumbled. It's hard to remember why she’s mad at him when she just keeps throwing herself at him anyway. God, last night had been so embarrassing—but she isn’t about to tell Annie any of _ that. _

“If you can't even remember, maybe it's time to get over it?” Annie suggests. She takes a sip of her coffee, tilts her head, and raises her eyebrows, challenging Beth to come up with a retort. 

"I can remember,” Beth huffs. “He went to Dean behind my back. Threatened him, you know. Said he’d pay off whoever he had to, if Dean ever tried to take the kids away from me again.” 

“Isn't that what _ you _ told Dean when you kicked him out?” 

“Well, yes, but—”

“Well, then, I'm sorry, but I don't see how—“

“I told him I was handling it! I told him, and he _ ignored _ me, and it just _ proves _ how little he trusts my judgment and—“

“Whoa, whoa, back up," Annie says, holding up a hand to stop her. “No offense, Beth, but you kicked Dean out, what? Like over a year ago? He _ just _ moved out. I mean, he _ faked cancer _ to manipulate you into letting him move back in, and _ then _ you guys were just in a _ stalemate. _ I mean, half the time I didn't know whether you two were together or not. There was a good chunk of time I was sure you were going to _ forgive _him for all of it.”

Beth rolls her shoulders and opens her mouth to object. “I told you—“

Annie barrels over her. “I know you aren’t into ‘labels’ or whatever, but Rio was your boyfriend.” Beth balks. “I mean, you both said you weren’t seeing anyone else. And you were sleeping together, and going on trips together, and he got you a fucking _ Christmas _ present—“ 

“That was for work,” Beth interjects, flustered. “The trip and the gun, both were—“

“And you just kept on _ living _ with your ex, like it was nothing. There’s _ still _ pictures up of Dean around here,” Annie says, like she hadn't heard Beth at all. “I mean, you didn't even get divorced until _ after _ you two broke up**.** Like, I’m surprised Rio waited as long as he did. He doesn't seem like the type to—“

Beth can feel a frustrated blush rising in her cheeks. “So, what? You think it’s just _ okay _ for him to ignore me? To go behind my back? Dean could've used that as _ ammo _ in a custody case against me.” 

Annie rolls her eyes. “Beth. Come _ on_.”

_“What?”_ Beth asks, exasperated. Her fingers curl around the edge of the countertop, knuckles going white. 

“I’m pretty sure Rio meant what he said.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I'm pretty sure the guy would’ve done whatever he had to do to make sure Dean didn't get shit in any custody case. He doesn’t exactly seem generous with his money, so if he was offering—”

“That’s not the point,” Beth says, crossing her arms. 

“Obviously you thought he had a good idea, considering you used it, like, what? Ten seconds later?” Annie looks at her like Beth’s being ridiculous. 

Beth turns her back on her sister and begins furiously scrubbing the dirty dishes in the sink and loading them into the dishwasher. 

“I'm not excusing it. You can be _ mad _ at him. But why is this stopping you from _ being _with him? It all worked out. Dean's moved out, your kids are fine, and—“

"He took away my choice!” Beth hisses, squeezing the sponge in her hand. The suds spill out. Her voice rises, shrill and angry. "I've spent my whole life with men dictating my choices, making me feel worthless, like—like I didn't have any power. Dad left, and Dean cheated, and I had no money, no job history, no _ skills_. And I finally found something, and it felt like Rio understood that, but then he just…” Beth voice drops to nearly a whisper. “...didn't believe in me. He didn't think I could handle it myself.”

Annie sits in stunned silence for a second. Beth scrubs and scrubs at a plate. She keeps scrubbing, even after she gets the dried pizza sauce off, a remnant of Annie’s night with the kids. 

“You shouldn't have to handle everything alone.” 

“What?” Beth turns and looks at Annie. Annie’s fingers are wrapped around her mug and she's looking into it, mouth twisting.

“You shouldn't have had to do everything alone when Dad left. Mom should’ve—well, we both know what Mom _ should’ve _ done. But you did it. You raised me.” Annie chews her lip. “I couldn’t have done anything without you, but you had to do _ everything _ alone, and it made you strong, but it made you… hard.” 

Beth opens her mouth, but she’s not sure what to say.

“I mean, you married Dean to help take care of me. You didn't have to do that.” 

“I didn’t—“

“You did,” Annie says flatly, and it's like it’s the first time she’s admitting it to herself, too. “And I’m thankful, right? Because I’m a mess enough as it is, so I can't imagine what it would be like if—if I’d been left with Mom.”

“Annie…”

“I know I say this all the time, but you married a goddamn neanderthal. Dean can’t take care of himself. He made you do it _ all_. All he did was make the money, and well, he wasn't even very good at that most of the time. Once I had Sadie and I moved in with Gregg, you had no one.”

“That's not—“

But it is, isn’t it? When Annie left, it’d felt strange not having someone to take care of—she’d done it for most of her life, after all. She’d thrown herself into being the perfect wife. Dean’s outfits were laid out for him in the morning, and she had coffee in a thermos ready to go for him before he left. She ironed his suits and tied his ties and had dinner waiting for him promptly at 6:00. But the days had felt so long and lonely. She’d anxiously awaited the day Sadie was born, when she’d be needed again. And Annie _ had _ needed help, at least initially, but then she’d gotten the hang of it, had gotten territorial even, wanting to do things her own way. It wasn’t long after that that Beth had gotten pregnant with Kenny, and she’d been _ so _ happy—felt pride in her ability to juggle it all: taking care of Dean, taking care of the baby, taking care of Annie when her marriage imploded… 

And then she’d gotten pregnant with Danny.

“Will you just let me finish?” 

Beth leans back against the sink and nods once.

“I was young and wrapped up in myself, so I wasn't paying attention. I’m sorry for that, because you tied yourself to someone that didn’t deserve you for _ me_. And you got so used to doing things alone that you forgot that you don't _ have _ to do it alone. When things got bad—your marriage, your depression—you just... shut us out. You didn’t talk about it. And it was hard enough for me and Ruby to convince you that you didn’t have to do it all by yourself. We couldn’t convince you that we could _ help _—we could watch the kids, or clean the house, or whatever. So I’m just saying… you don't always realize when you’re struggling, and you don't like it when people try to help you, and this time… I think Rio was just trying to help you.”

Beth runs her tongue along her teeth, processing. Annie was laying a whole analysis of Beth's life at her feet, like it was that simple. 

“I think you should forgive him.”

“It’s not that easy,” Beth protests. “He made me feel… _ small_. I want someone that _ believes _ in me. Dean… didn’t. When I came up with all those ideas for the dealership, you know what he said? That we each have our own superpower and—"

“Will you forget about Dean for a minute? Because Rio's not Dean.”

Beth sucks in a breath. 

“Maybe Rio didn’t believe in your ability to handle _ this_, but I'd argue half the time he’s giving you _ too much _ responsibility. You think he doesn't believe in you? He gave you $750,000 in counterfeit cash to wash, like, a week after he met you."

"It wasn’t a week—“ 

Annie arches a brow, like she realizes it's an exaggeration. “He asked you to _ kill _ a man. He left you a storage locker of money, and then he let you strong-arm him into a partnership. Beth, he’s a _ gang leader. _ If anyone else pulled that—” Annie sighs, then restarts. “He let _you_ take leads in those Canada meetings, didn't he? I mean, he’s a control freak and yet—“

Beth blanches at the mention of Boomer. Rio still hasn’t forgiven her for that. "Yes, but—“

“_But_,” Annie says, continuing from Beth’s sentence. “I think you’re latching onto this because you’re totally freaked by what you feel for him. And no wonder. You’ve never felt it for _ anyone, _so it’s just easier to run in the opposite direction and try to squeeze yourself into a box and make it work with someone that isn’t really the person you want to be with. It’s more familiar, right?” 

The words feel almost like a slap, although that isn’t how Annie means them. She makes it sound so straightforward, but it’s just _ not_. 

“How did you forgive Noah?” Beth asks, her voice a mixture of frustration and curiosity. “He almost imploded your entire life.” 

Annie shrugs._ “ _Love’s weird.” 

Recoiling at the word, Beth scoffs, “It can’t be that easy.” 

“It’s not. It’s hard,” Annie admits. “Sometimes we fight about what to have for dinner, but it’s not really about what to have for dinner, right? It's about _ that_. I mean, I’m not _ over _ it. I’m not even positive all the time that we’ll ever be able to move past it. But I guess we both think there’s something worth fighting for. The question is: do you?” 

Beth takes a long drink of her coffee, thinking. 

_ Is _ it worth fighting for? 

_ Are _ they fighting for it? She’s still in crime, he’s still teaching her. He’s kissing her in warehouses, and she's kissing him while they're on dates with other people. 

And there’s the rub.

“Rio's dating someone else,” Beth says, because that’s easier than admitting that he’s got reasons for not wanting to be with her, too. 

“Well, then, I guess the question is _ can you wait_?”

Suddenly there’s a patter of little feet and Emma and Jane run into the kitchen together.

"Mommy, when will the crepes be ready?” Jane asks, taking lead.

“Soon, sweetie,” Beth promises. 

“What kind are we having?” Emma asks. 

“Blueberry,” Beth answers, because at least some there are still some decisions that feel simple. 

* * *

The rest of the day is filled with errands. Beth rounds up the kids, and they go to the bank to deposit her mortgage payment, to Jiffy Lube to get her tires rotated, and to the craft store to get some more thread to patch up all of Jane’s jeans, which all seem to have various holes and scrapes in them. 

Beth doesn’t have time to think about Peter, or Rio, or anything, because there’s a constant stream of babbling from her kids in the backseat: stories about school friends, complaints about the errands, and begging for various toys or treats. 

At four o’clock she drops Emma off at a friend’s birthday party, and it’s perfect because it's right on the way for her to drop off Kenny at Judith’s house. He’s trying to earn some money to buy some Xbox game he’s been coveting, and Judith said she could think up some chores for him to do. 

It’s a win-win, because that meant she was just left with Jane and Danny, and since it was Saturday, that meant she only had to drag one kid along for Danny’s karate practice. Afterward, she’d drop them at Dean’s, and he’d be responsible for picking up the other two. 

“Can we get ice cream afterward?” Jane asks from her booster seat.

“It's too cold for ice cream,” Beth answers, pulling into the parking lot of the dojo.

“Can we get donuts then?” Danny asks.

“No,” Beth says, easing into a parking spot. “I’m going to drop you off at your Dad’s afterward.”

“Grandma’s?” Jane asks hopefully.

“No, remember, sweetie—your dad found his own place?” It’d been slow, but Dean had finally found a small three-bedroom rental close to Judith’s. Jane begins to pout. “Remember how fun it was over there? How Daddy decorated your room with all the unicorns?” 

Well, that wasn’t strictly true—_ Beth _ had ordered all the items for the kids’ rooms, paid for them even, since she was the one making the most money between the two of them—but the kids didn’t need to know that.

Beth gets out and starts to unbuckle Jane, who's gripping her Doc McStuffins toy and nodding. Danny hops out of the van and runs ahead of Beth, who yells after him, “Danny! Wait!”

But Danny doesn't wait. Danny never waits. He can never sit still, it seems, and Beth’s seething when she swings open the glass door and finds Danny laughing with one of his friends. 

“You can't run ahead of me,” Beth scolds. “I need to know where you are at all times.”

“Okay,” Danny says, shrugging, like he gets it. But that’s what he always says.

“No, not just ‘okay,’” Beth says. "You have to actually _ do _ it—“

The bell rings on the glass door, and suddenly she hears, “Elizabeth?”

Beth whirls around and Jane peeks around Beth’s legs curiously. Danny, already bored, runs off with his friend into his class, and Beth feels like she almost understands those parents who buy leashes for their kids. 

It’s Charlotte. Of _ course _ it’s Charlotte. She’d asked just yesterday where Beth took Danny for karate, and Charlotte seems _ exactly _ like the type to follow-up on a recommendation within 24 hours.

“Charlotte. Hi.” Beth swallows and licks her lips. Her conversation with Annie comes flooding back to her, and it’s like the universe is confronting her. _ Don’t. He’s not an option. _

“We’re here to check it out,” Charlotte says. There’s a little boy with her, just a little shorter than Danny. He’s got a buzz cut and a gap-toothed smile. “This is Micah.”

“Hi, Micah,” Beth says, giving the boy a genuinely warm smile, but she grabs Jane's hand, hoping to escape the conversation as quickly as possible. “Well, Danny’s got class now—but I hope you like it.”

“Oh, I—“ Charlotte starts, and Beth hesitates for just a second, feeling too rude to just keep walking toward the practice room.

“Do you like Doc McStuffins?” Jane asks Micah, holding out her doll for him to examine. 

Micah smiles. “Yeah!”

“My friend Marcus won me this at Chuck E. Cheese,” Jane says proudly, and Beth blinks heavily. If only they could have gotten through this conversation without a reference to Rio. 

“Christopher’s Marcus?” Charlotte asks. 

“Who's that? Is that Marcus’s daddy?” Jane asks, perking up. “Is that your friend with the bird?” She points to her neck. 

Beth nods and says through tight lips, “Mhm. That’s him.”

Jane frowns, like that's not the name she remembers for him, but she can't quite come up with the _ right _ one. “When can we see Marcus again, Mommy?” 

Beth inhales loudly through her nose. She'd _ just _ gotten Jane to stop asking this question. 

“Soon,” Beth says vaguely. _ Escape route, escape route_, Beth thinks. “Well, we’ve got to head into class. I'm not sure where the front desk person is, but if I see one, I'll send them your way?” 

“Oh, well,” Charlotte says hesitantly. “Do you mind if we sit in with you?”

“Um,” Beth says, but she quickly composes herself. “Sure. Of course.”

It’s not exactly like she can say _ no_. 

“I don't want to impose,” Charlotte says, realizing that she is. “It's just…”

“No, it's completely fine! It’s _ great_,” Beth insists, and unfortunately, she's a good liar, so Charlotte nods, smiles, and follows her in.

* * *

And that’s how Beth ends up sitting next to Charlotte for an hour in a sweaty karate practice room while their kids play together off in the corner. Charlotte notes how good the sensei is with the kids, how patient he is and how he doesn’t let any of them (in particular Danny—but she doesn't say it, which Beth appreciates) get away with any nonsense.

They chat about their kids, about Charlotte’s move, about their hobbies. About anything, it seems, but Rio. 

_ Small mercies_, Beth thinks. 

The worst part is that the conversation is _ easy_. Charlotte’s friendly, and she shares a lot of Beth’s ideas about how to parent, and she also likes knitting and quilting and baking. Of course, it's just a reminder of how similar they are—and Beth can’t help but think of her and Rio on the patio last night.

It makes her both guilty and incensed. How could Rio have seriously acted like Charlotte _ wasn’t _ just like Beth? 

“I don’t want to be weird,” Charlotte says, when there’s only a few minutes left of the class. Beth’s heart lodges in her throat, and she panics, wondering what Charlotte’s going to say next. “But do you maybe want to grab lunch sometime?”

“Lunch?” Beth asks, surprised. Stalling. 

“Yeah. Or coffee or something?” Beth’s working out how to answer when Charlotte says earnestly, “I’m sorry—I’m very bad at this.”

“What’s that?”

“Making friends,” Charlotte says, nervously gripping her purse handles on her lap. “It’s just… we've been here a few months, and now that I’m the _ boss_, I’m not exactly making friends at work, you know? And I tried to join a book club, but god, it was so boring—and knitting circles? They're all made up of like, eighty-year-old retirees. Dating in a new city seems to be easier than making friends in one. When Christopher was talking about you last night, it seemed like we had a lot in common and—“ 

The question falls out of Beth’s mouth before she can stop it. “He said that?”

“Yeah, after you left with Peter,” Charlotte says, like she’s surprised Beth’s taken aback by this. She frowns, but shakes it off. "I said that I liked you, and he said he wasn’t surprised, since we were a lot alike, and, well...” Charlotte scrunches her face, sort of embarrassed, like she thinks she's being awkward. Beth feels for her, she does, but how can she be _ friends _ with her? 

“Oh. Right. Yeah, I can see that.” Beth smiles tightly.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Charlotte says, pulling out her vibrating phone from her pocket. Beth glances over and sees that Charlotte has several new text messages—presumably all from Rio, or rather, _ Christopher_. 

It’s absurd, but she can’t help but think of how Rio used to text _ her. _ One single line, usually not quite enough information—like little puzzles she had to piece together. Never more than one message at a time. It gnaws at her, this stupid thing, this further piece of evidence that he treats her _differently_. 

Charlotte unlocks her phone and taps out a response, and Beth tries to be discreet about looking over at Charlotte’s lap, but the text size is unreasonably small. Beth can’t read a thing—which is probably good, considering she’d probably find something she hates, like details confirming their next date or, worse, little flirting messages. 

Beth wonders what it could’ve been like with Rio if they’d met some other way. If she’d met him in a bar (where else could they have possibly crossed paths?) would she have even entertained her attraction to him? She knows the answer is no. On the surface, he would have appeared too different: too young, too tattooed, too far outside of suburbia. And he probably wouldn’t have entertained the idea of her, either: too prim, too demure, too motherly. She wouldn’t have recognized his softness, he wouldn’t have registered her darkness. They’d have passed each other like ships in the night—or, at best, fallen into bed together once, in a wildly uncharacteristic act for both of them, and never seen each other again. 

Her stomach clenches at the thought.

No, the only way anything could have ever bloomed between them was the exact way it did: slowly, over time, an attraction which mutated into respect which turned into—what? She isn’t sure. _ Something_. Something dark and twisted and complicated, yes, but also something uniquely _ them. _Something neither of them seemed capable of walking away from—and yet it all felt like it was slipping through her fingers. 

What might things have been like if he _ hadn’t _ gone to Dean? If she _ had _ killed Boomer?

Her gut twists, and she pushes away the thoughts.

Charlotte’s a slow texter. Beth thinks of her own phone, of the three messages she’s left unread from Peter all day. 

Feeling that she’s being very unfair to him, Beth finally gathers up the courage to read them. 

_ I just wanted to say again that I had a lot of fun with you last night. _  
  
_ I hope you’re having a good day. Talk soon? _  
_  
Oh, also, you left your sweater here. I’m going on a run in the morning near your place—I can drop by with it in the a.m.? _

She doesn’t know what to do. Annie was right: she had to make a decision—and not just romantically. She had to ask Peter about Kostra, but if he said no, she ruined everything with both of them. She had two days to give Rio an answer, otherwise…

She shakes it off. If she thinks too hard about it, she might unravel here in the karate practice room. 

Charlotte pockets her phone again. “I didn’t, like, come here tonight knowing that you were going to be here. I was actually thinking we could maybe do another double date, and I’d wear you down there.” It’s a joke, and Charlotte smiles, so Beth, feeling awkward, lets out a small, hollow laugh. “But then you were here, and I just thought—“ 

Beth’s staring at Charlotte, trying to come up with something, _ anything _ to say, when Charlotte backtracks.

"Look, it's not a big deal. I get it, if it's weird. I mean, I’m just casually dating one of your closest friends, and I don’t know his track record—maybe they come and go quickly, and you already know I'm not gonna last another week.” Charlotte laughs, but there’s a nervousness to it like she’s worried Beth might confirm it.

“It’s not weird," Beth says, because that's easier. "We can do lunch.” 

“Really?” Charlotte asks, relieved.

And she knows it's a mistake, but she says, "Sure. It'll be fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter where Rio didn't physically appear (I'm pretty sure at least) and I'm sorry for that! Hope Beth's progress toward figuring out what she wants and all the flashback memories with him keep you sated in the meantime.
> 
> Next chapter is a Rio POV and so far, it's one of my faves.
> 
> Also P.S. I actually think Noah's actions are really gross and don't like having him and Annie together, but I do think the show suggests that she might have pushed all that down/not recognized the severity of his actions and allowed herself to develop feelings for him, so they're still together in this fic, but I am definitely not rooting for them.


End file.
